2. Xeraphine

2

Xeraphine

I don't consider myself appalling in green; it's far from my top choice. Yet here I am, dressed in it solely because of him—my target.

His eyes, a piercing sapphire blue, devour me whole. My dress, a skin-tight cork style, accentuates every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination. I know my body's power, reveling in how it commands attention, eliciting purrs and catcalls.

The clicking of my heels against the sticky floor is drowned out entirely by the deafening music. Heavy metal rock, accompanied by screaming lyrics, threatens to send me packing. How anyone manages to converse in this racket is beyond comprehension.

The man drawing me in with a pinch of his finger is undeniably beautiful, but that's hardly surprising for a Shifter. Like most Dylox species, they shine in such aspects. With attributes akin to the Gods, Shifters are renowned for their alluring appearances and physiques. Yet, while I can't deny their beauty, they're also the most vile beings to ever tread this damned world.

"You fell from Vayl itself, didn't you, baby doll?" His deep voice resonates, matching his massive stature. He towers over me, causing me to have to tilt my head back to meet his gaze.

"Oh, you flatter me as if you aren't chiseled from the appearance of a deity." I flutter my long lashes, and I've hooked him. There's no need to release my pheromones; I can't afford for his group to be drugged and ready to pounce on me as well.

I pull my hair across one shoulder, exposing my neck. Among Dylox, there's a tacit understanding that a claim signifies ownership, whether it's through a tattoo or a bite. By showing my unmarked neck, I signal that I haven't been claimed, and the joy on his face accompanies his step toward me.

"What is your name, my beautiful goddess?" I detest being referred to as such, but I bite my lip, suppressing the sour taste in my throat.

"Xeraphine, and yours?"

He's handsy; I notice the twitch as he briefly hesitates, before summoning the courage to wrap his arm around my shoulders and pull me closer.

"You can just call me God, because that is what you'll be screaming for later," he finishes his sentence with a laugh, echoed by his friends surrounding the small VIP booth.

Insufferable .

At least his dick is bigger than the other guy from last week. I can feel it pressing against my hip, sending a shiver down to my cunt.

"But for now, you can just call me Miles." He guides us back, settling into the red leather booth and pulling me into his lap. I can't deny the anticipation of feeling that snake deep inside me later. Despite being a Shifter, he looks like he can provide me with a good time. His muscular physique, dark caramel skin, and short hair swept to one side suggest as much—he exudes confidence, which I need in a good fuck.

He reeks of liquor, but a scent of peaches and cream lingers beneath that. I know his energy will be fucking delicious.

"Miles," I purr, crossing my legs so my dress rides up slightly, revealing the hint of lace between my thighs. "Tell me, what's a stud like you doing here without a woman already in your lap?"

"He left her at home," a man, equally as handsome with blond hair and green eyes interjects. "I'm sure she's thrilled about that."

That's unfortunate. I hope his last words to her were beautiful and that he made her feel like she was his only.

I feel Miles tensing under me, ready to tear the man's head off for revealing his truth. Leaning back against his chest I whisper, "Lucky me." His hands slide to my hips. "So, I suppose my question should be, what kind of night were you looking to have? "

I'm coming on strong, but Shifters thrive on this assertiveness. They dominate their groups, yet when confronted by a strong woman baring her claws, they willingly submit to fulfill their desires.

"I was thinking a few drinks, and to find the company of a beautiful woman ready to kneel for me," he croons. "Though your mouth is quite delicate looking." His hand grazes my cheek, sending a warmth tingling down my neck. He traces his thumb over my lips, which are a permanently stained shade of red, and shakes his head. "I don't think I'll fit in there."

I relish this little game; it's my specialty after all. I much prefer these encounters, where I don't have to pretend that all I desire is to be fucked like the demon I am.

Instead of telling him how much I can take, I demonstrate by sliding my tongue between my lips, revealing the two metal beads piercing it. I tap them gently against my perfect pearly whites before retracting them back into my mouth. I had contemplated getting the trending split tongue, but my body heals too quickly for it. Piercings, on the other hand, while my body heals around them, at least remain in place.

The snake under me pulses, and I know I have him under my spell.

"Let's test out that stretch," he challenges, and my eyebrow arches in response, but I don't question him. I open my mouth, and he shoves three fingers inside. I have to stifle a near gag as the tips brush against the back of my tongue.

I'm not surprised they fit, but he seems taken aback.

"Do you enjoy multiples, Xeraphine?" another of his comrades asks, and I presume it's the man with slanted eyes and dark black hair like mine. He looks like the kind of person who cheats people out of their money.

I don't get the chance to respond because his fingers remain lodged in my mouth.

"Oh no boys, sorry. Not tonight," Miles replies for me.

Fuck , why does his fingers nearly causing me to vomit turn me on so much? Stupid Amoro, settle down.

I quite enjoy having all of my holes filled, but tonight wasn't the night for that. So, I nod as though submissive to his demand. As his fingers start to withdraw from my mouth, I push my tongue between them, serving as a reminder of what's soon to come.

Dylox are delectable, and indulging in this one will leave me satisfied for weeks.

"Would you like a drink first? To loosen up?"

Pfft . I nearly roll my eyes in consternation, but instead, I stifle my natural instinct to dominate and I run my fingers through my hair. "I'm sure you would prefer me to be tight," I remark.

There's a momentary concern that this might be too easy, but most men are predictable and easily manipulated by me. While I could attribute it to being a Succubus, I'd like to think I'm just that good at what I do.

"I'll be back boys," he announces as he stands, lifting me with him, and I force out a giggle. "Don't wait past midnight; tell Jess I'm with one of you."

My lip twitches. By the Gods, I am fucking starving.

The moment he navigates us through the crowd toward the exclusive VIP section, I watch him pull out a nice bundle of cash and slap it into the security guard's hand. Anticipation courses through my body as he shifts me in his arms, no longer cradling me, but instead gripping my ass, my legs wrapping around his waist instinctively.

Before we even reach the door, his lips are smashing against mine, and I allow my Amoro to slip slightly. The pheromones seep between our lips, eliciting a hiss of absolute need from him.

I don't need to drug him to have him, but I'm going to make sure he gives me everything I need before we're done.

"You are a fucking dream," he groans so loudly that my throat vibrates from its intensity.

When he finally sets me down onto my feet, refusing to release our locked lips, we stumble through a cracked door. I'm surprised he's capable of closing it behind him with the fervor of his advancements. His tongue darts into my mouth, playing with the balls on my tongue before dancing with it.

I tear at his shirt, the buttons from the top to midway bouncing around the room. He aids in its complete removal before turning his attention to my only piece of clothing. It's up and over my head before I register our lips parting, already becoming intoxicated by his desire .

For Succubae like me, everyone has four food groups. The first is their desire, like alcohol to humans, enough of it could send me straight to unconsciousness if I'm not careful. It typically pours from my victim's mouth. The second is their lust, or what most call their pheromones. It's the scent they release while sexually aroused, akin to an appetizer. It's not filling, but it's enough to bridge the gap from foreplay to the main event.

My favorite of the four is their secretion. Disgusting; but to me, their sweat, saliva, semen—it's like dessert before the main course. I've always craved my sweets before dinner.

Lastly, the climax of them all is when they release their tension and allow the shield around their lifeforce to drop. The only time anyone's guard is down on their life is when they're in the midst of an orgasm.

I'm ready to go straight to my dessert. The smell of mild musk wafts up as he loses his pants in our devastating kiss. We turn, and he breaks us apart, my breathing heavy as I try to center myself amidst all of his desire.

The room possesses a solitary couch, its size seemingly inadequate for someone of his stature to recline comfortably, yet my desires transcend such concerns. We could lay on the floor for all I care, as long as I get what I need in the end.

Black walls envelop us, accompanied by curtains in a rich, deep navy, obscuring much of the light. But for someone attuned to the night like myself, illumination is unnecessary; I perceive the silhouette of his taut, rigid cock, primed and eager.

"Do you like to be dominated, my pet?"

Personally, I hate being told what to do. It is such a turn-off. Yet, it's a common trait among men—they often crave control to reach their peak performance. And that's exactly what I require.

So, I put my liar panties on, and approach him, dropping to my knees without hesitation. "Yes," I exhale, the sensation of his cock against my skin evoking the comparison to a serpent, if it had appeared unexpectedly, it may have surprised me.

Like a dog begging for its meal, I part my lips eagerly and extend my tongue fully, ready to indulge in every sensation. He grips the hilt of his length while the other hand grabs the back of my head bringing his thick, monstrous cock into me. Indeed, he barely fits, but he does. The moment my piercings grace the underside of his shaft, he throws his head back and groans out a moan.

He does not hesitate to immediately begin fucking my throat. Each thrust is harder than the last, and while he is not giving me enough time to breathe, I bask in the secretion that is sweetening down my throat.

"Holy fuck, you must have lots of practice," he grunts through his drive.

What the fuck? Who says that?

As though I'm some whore. I'll remember that when I'm satisfied, you fucking prick.

With another rough thrust, one that stretches the back of my throat, I feel his grip around my neck. The hand behind my head exerts a vice-like grip, anchoring me in place. For a brief moment, I wonder if he has killed in this manner before.

My body twitches involuntarily, the deprivation of oxygen in my lungs tempting me to struggle for breath. But I resist the urge, refusing to engage in the primal battle for air. Despite my instincts urging me to fight for it, I don't. The dizzying sensation of light-headedness is a thrilling experience my starved body craves. The blur that slowly pulls from the edges of my vision as I look up at the man ready to end my life with his cock, drives my cunt to pulse and drip.

Only a few more seconds pass, and as he pulls back, I gasp for air to fill my lungs. He doesn't release my throat and pulls me by it to stand. "You are a wet dream. No one has ever taken me like that—no way I'll kill you."

My vision begins to focus, and I grin. "How about you suffocate on my cunt, you filthy fucking animal." Damn it , I need to watch it. "Please…" my breathless plea rekindles my submissiveness, and Miles seems to eat it up just as I crave for him to consume me.

He flings me onto the couch with force, dropping to his knees and ripping my panties away. His gaze isn't worshipful; it is more appreciative, devouring. "Such a pretty pink pussy, so delicate looking." I spread my legs eagerly, my hands sliding down to my knees and gripping them firmly in place. "Presenting for me, what a good girl. You know what us Shifters like." He licks his lips.

Unfortunately , I keep the comment to myself. Gods, do I hate being called that …

"You keep it shaved too, with such a cute little landing strip. I love…" My entire body rolls with a chill, goosebumps rising on my skin. Love, what a stupid fucking word… just as bad as someone calling me a good girl.

"You like the praise, baby doll?"

I struggle to restrain the primal urge to rip his tongue out for daring to utter those words. "Praise my pussy with your mouth." I bring my hand down and spread my lips for him to have at me. I am tired of looking at his face, even if it is handsome. Any more talking and I will begin sucking back all the arousal soaking my bottom lips and thighs.

Without another word, he leans in and begins his adventure. As I anticipated, his tongue is rough, nearly as sizable as his cock, I swear. A loud, throaty moan escapes me instantly. He's not particularly skilled, but at least he can locate my bundle of nerves. With each stroke of his tongue from my pussy to my clit, I twitch involuntarily.

I'll never comprehend why straight men don't bother to master the art of pleasing a woman orally. This Shifter is old enough to have had ample experience between thighs to know better.

Fucking focus on the nerve, you shit! Why are you treating it like you are swimming laps through a pool?!

After a few flicks of his tongue, I think he might sit back, but he's out of his mind if he thinks that's happening. The hand not holding open the curtains for him to have free rein, grabs his short hair and yanks him back in. I'm not gentle; I grip him and hold him firmly right at my clit.

"That's it, right there," I purr, encouraging him to remain in place.

Fucking Shifters . He pulls back with all his strength, and though I could easily hold him, I choose not to. "I want you to come all over my cock, not my face."

I suppress my groan. He could eat me out for three business days, and I still wouldn't be ready to squirt all over him.

"Let me ride you until we are both satisfied then," I was tired of this, and famished. The high from his lust has all but drained away, and even his secretion isn't enough to appease my dwindling patience .

He doesn't hesitate to lift me, swiftly turning us so he can sit on the couch. My legs instinctively straddle his hips, wasting no time in sliding down onto him.

Massive, fucking Goddess of sanity, he stretches me

good—I enjoy the pain it brings. Not waiting for his size to settle, I slam down onto him. The tip of his cock and my walls fighting for dominance. He is far too long, but I don't care. He could tear right through me and I would welcome the added length inside me.

His loud groan echoes as his greedy hands seize my hips, propelling me into motion. While I need no assistance, he seems eager to take control, so be it. With one hand slipping down between my slit, I roll my fingers seamlessly against my clit.

Gods, I revel in how I make myself feel. There's no emotional attachment to this body lifting and slamming me down, knowing I could achieve the same, if not rougher, sensations with the monster toys I have stored away at home. Yet, unfortunately, I can't satisfy my own hunger. How much simpler would my life be if that were the case?

The sound of my arousal harmonizes with my moans, my legs twitching as I'm stretched and my bundle of nerves ignite. It surprises me enough that I gasp when Miles leans in and sucks on my neck. He better not dare bite me, or I swear I'll kill him before we both reach our orgasm.

Thankfully, he refrains from biting and instead traces marks down my collarbone to my breast.

"You feel fucking fantastic, let me come all over this beautiful body."

Sorry, buddy, that isn't happening. I'm grateful that I'm impervious to both pregnancy and disease, at least none that can be transmitted to me by Dylox or Mundanes. While my own kind could pose such risks, since we're nearly extinct, I'm never too concerned.

"Fill me," I beg, "I'm on birth control."

That seems to please him as he thrusts upward fervently, and I continue, "Come with me, please." My fingers pinching at my bud as I tumble over the edge. I can feel him thickening, his nails digging into my skin, and I can smell the scent of the blood he has drawn.

Foolish .

The strings of his cum fill my pussy as his climaxes is met with soft laughter from me, along with my own equally intense orgasm. It's then that I feel his defenses drop, the shield around his lifeforce dissolving, granting me passage through his gate. I allow my Amoro to release, and around him, I see his emerald aura. There's so much of it, and I cry out in pure bliss as it seeps into me.

"Oh, fuck, Miles!" The orgasm was good, but this sensation of being lifted from my skin was fucking fantastic.

I waste none of it, and as his hands begin to shake, I lean forward and meet his gaze. His expression turns to shock as he stares at me. I know what he is seeing; the darkness creeping from the corners of my eyes, overtaking all the white that was pure just moments before.

"You taste so good." I was right, his aura resembles sweet cream, with hints of fruit, but the predominant flavor I focus on is rich and smooth. Like sugar with vanilla, it's fluffy and light, bringing an airy sensation to my palate. "Fuck, I could feast on you for eternity if you weren't a dead man."

He tenses, and I lean down onto his chest, my tongue running against the energy seeping from his pores. "You are going to satisfy me for weeks with just one feeding, my sweet, and I am so thankful."

"What... I—" he finally speaks. "I can't move."

"No… No, you can't." I run my tongue up his neck to his mouth, where I place a soft kiss. "Let me savor your lifeforce for a few more seconds…"

I lean back and roll my hips on his slowly shrinking cock. How disappointing, he couldn't stay hard just a little longer.

"Get off!" he grits through his teeth, but I only smile, "SEC—"

I shove my fingers into his mouth. "Shh," I hush him as he tries to bite down, my soft smile turning toothy. "Show me those canines, my sweet. Go on, bite."

As though on command, his sharp canine slices into my finger, drawing blood down onto his tongue. His attempt to bite through the bone goes ignored, and I suck in a deep breath.

"Did you know, just like most Dylox, Succubae have a power beyond their natural born gifts, Miles?"

He begins trembling beneath me.

"I'm a hemokinesis. That, and my blood is like a poisonous drug. Once it's in your system, it travels through you and latches onto your brain," I explain calmly. My head slowly tilts. "Open your mouth, boy."

Immediately, his lips part, and I pull my fingers from his mouth. "Your cock is deflated, I'm so disappointed," I scoff. " Suppose my fun is over..." A gentle sigh of displeasure filters through my lips before I continue. "Who does your father report to, Miles Talon?"

Miles, the son of Angus Talon, fought to steady himself. I could see in his eyes that he was trying his hardest not to show fear now that he understood that I knew who he was. The shift in his aura was telling enough; he smells of anxiety. It is a disconcerting fusion of sharp citrus notes, mingling with an earthy undertone reminiscent of patchouli, creating an olfactory symphony.

"My father… reports to himself." He lies as well as he gives head.

I click my tongue against my teeth, "Please." I shake my head, the word coming with a tinge of irritation, "Your father is so low on the pole it's not even worth me grinding on. Who does Angus report to?"

He quickly responds, "No one." I sigh through my nose. I know he is lying, and not because I've been working for six fucking years and know this world probably better than he does, but because of his scent.

"You reek of filthy lies," I hiss. "Fine."

Moving forward, causing him to slide out of me, I rest on his stomach. "I've been torturing and killing your kind for nearly six years, my sweet. You mistake me for someone who doesn't know what they're doing."

I reach behind me; his cock has shrunk so far into itself I'm surprised at how it got to be as big as it had been in the first place.

Wrapping my fingers around it, bending the appendage and pinching, I lean towards him, "Close your mouth, and do not scream." As soon as his mouth is shut, and his eyes are widened into complete circles, I yank.

Separating it is a challenge due to its softness and elasticity, which demands a considerable amount of pulling before it finally gives way. Nonetheless, it eventually yields to the effort.

Miles is screaming through closed lips, tears spilling from his reddening eyes. His hands, which are resting at his sides, ball into fists. The way he writhes under me in agonizing pain feeds my Amoro even more.

Death tastes of pomegranate, and those closing in on the door to its embrace secrete fear, which brings about the tart flavor. I brandish the once impressive cock, and hold it in front of him. "Who does he report to? Now open, and answer."

"Fuck you!" he cries out, "you crazy cunt! "

A mock gasp comes from me, "How hurtful. Talking about my cunt like that." I move back slightly, sitting on his open wound, making him scream out in agony. I know I'm sick, because once I feel the warmth of his blood against my slit, I roll my hips instinctively. My Amoro revels in the sensation of it against my still-sensitive clit. "I will make you eat this if you don't answer me, Miles."

"Please, please. Just kill me, please—"

This is fun; I could do this all night. However, I know in due time the inevitable shift in the music will happen, and his screams will pierce through the once-veiled ambiance. "Open your mouth, Miles," I demand, and without hesitation, he obliges.

I hum as I slip his cock into his mouth, making sure to deposit as much of his crimson liquid with it as I can. "Close your mouth."

Watching him cry as he begins to choke on his own appendage makes me want to touch myself. Seeing him suffer as I have? It's fucking beautiful.

I'm a masochist, and I'm okay with that.

"Chew, Miles."

He vibrates under me, and I know that soon he will pass out from the blood loss. I've devoured a substantial amount of his lifeforce, but Shifters, like most Dylox, can feed me for days without dying if done correctly.

His blood and flesh gush in his mouth, and it makes me smile. As he chews, I lean in and hover my lips just inches from his. "Swallow, my sweet."

As he does, he's gagging and gurgling as though he might vomit. I can see his throat struggling, trying to both swallow the appendage and keep it there. The instinct not to want to choke fighting against the equally strong nature to not want to consume his own dick.

He won't be alive long enough for it to come back up.

"Your father, Miles."

"Why..." So pitiful. "What did I do to you?!" he muffles through his mouth being full of his own cock. Can't even die with any shred of dignity, instead, he whines and moans as though this world is fair.

This is tiresome. "Revenge has no moral boundaries—it remains indifferent to good or bad. It couldn't care less about the target it chooses; its only concern is that the outcome remains unchanged. If I have to ask again, I will feed your balls to your mother. Who does your father report to?! "

"Matteo! Matteo Castillo!" Maybe I should have started with the balls.

With a bored expression, I bring my bloody hand to my lips and lick a few fingers. "I see."

The Mortars Syndicate.

"Thank you, Miles."

"Let me go…" he pleads, and I'm amazed he would even want to live without his third leg.

"Oh no, my sweet. You and your little cuddle crew are dead."

Miles chokes on a sob, "I swear, I won't speak—"

The sound of his flesh tearing, like cutting through a ripe fruit accompanied by small pops of his tissue separating cleanly, silences him. His throat gushes with thick crimson, and I watch as his Adam's apple bobs, the tanned bone exposed to the elements.

"You are right," I laugh softly through my sentence. "You won't speak of this."